


the ritual of dying hair (and the realizations that come with it)

by vampiricvibe



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Fluff, Intricate Rituals, M/M, Tenderness, except u know.. they havent got together yet. but, hair dying, its just soft tbh, mention of ddl because im a bastard and that was a turning point, s14, set after the gang texts because. that ep was sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampiricvibe/pseuds/vampiricvibe
Summary: rcg said mac dying dennis' hair was canon, so you know i had to make a small fluffy homoerotic fic out of it.(fic post-gang goes to the zoo episode)
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	the ritual of dying hair (and the realizations that come with it)

**Author's Note:**

> originally written before the end of s14 but i reread it recently n was like…..hm . maybe i can finish this. it’s pretty casual and domestic but also kinda soft because. yea. it's heavily based around the gang goes to the zoo! so if you don't recall that episode the references may be a bit lost on you. hope you enjoy. also i really think i am only capable of writing oneshots n i kinda hate that.

This was getting out-of-hand,

just as it was before Mandy came and lured Dennis out of Paddy’s to become a new man, a better man, a caring, devoted father with a _changed_ soul - _ha!_ What a great job she had done, she had only driven him to become more manic. One would not usually blame their past significant other for ones own instabilities, but Dennis was not ‘the usual’, and he would pin all of his emotional inconsistencies and outbursts and breakdowns on the cold nights of North Dakota, lying motionless and bored and sick of the-day-by-day sobriety. Why would _he,_ of all people, _reflect upon himself?_ What kind of sick bastard would dare wade into self-consciousness, after all his prior ego and boldness had itself built up and blockaded tear ducts shut? What kind of sniveling contradictory runt would stoop so pitifully low, onto ones own knees?

…Only Mac whilst he’s committing to a blowie, and that perked up a smirk upon Dennis’s newly-balmed lips, or praying, or both at the same time. Not that Dennis wanted to consider that now, no.

He had also, missed the gang, in his time spent there. He wouldn’t admit that aloud, but it was abandoning family, for another family he didn’t care for, not truly - and not one he was willing to really attempt to care for. Sure, it all began as sunshine and rainbows, hoping for a shred of normalcy, but the more he ignored this urge to return to Philly, the more Mandy realized that he was no Brian, nor was he willing to mold himself into one - and with that, more acceptance came from her, for him to pack up and get out, as the prospect of him leaving was just on the edges of his tongue, spilling from his pores, his expression yearning for home. And she could tell.

He didn’t wish to parallel Frank, abandoning his son - abandoning him, so frequently, leaving a single mother to tend, but alas.

Two years had come and gone,

and the memories still cross his mind, like a train passing alongside him, a blur of distorted faces and people who live solely in the uncanny valley of ones head - he can recall them, yes, but not in great detail, as the tracks roar beneath his feet and they all just merely, whip by. And then it is gone, they are gone. You sometimes wonder, halfheartedly, where they’d be travelling, where’d they stop, what they’d all be doing as soon as they arrived, filling in the dots, hoping they’re both okay, but not often. _This was all so out-of-hand._

“Den,”

He lay on the couch, zoning in and out of thought, eyes open, but they may as well have been closed, he was so self-absorbed; the couch was practically consuming him whole. Mac promptly pokes him in the rib and he recoils like a cat whose recent fill of food had only been straight catnip.

“Wh-what?”

“You said you wanted to re-dye your hair today.”

Oh. He did, it looked a little patchy, a little imperfect, it could do with a good color-up, not that Mac’s hands would do any better this time, he was always so shit with the stuff, so - inelegant, but what did he expect? Dennis chews on his words for a moment, processes everything, blinks, and remembers where exactly he was, “…Yes. I, did.”

Mac notices his quite, jumpy and tetchy reactions, his tongue teeters on the prospect of asking the deathly question, the dreaded: ‘are you okay?’ - but decides against it. He knows he would either get an false answer out right, or a furious complaint about how Mac shouldn’t be so quick to guess his emotions and read him so intrinsically and be, so damn nosy. None of his business, none whatsoever. Sometimes curiosity can spell downfall, he knows far too well from last year that such is true. Ask Dennis, and you will most likely not receive.

“So?” Except, for this time.

Dennis gets up, and Mac follows. It’s the usual ritual of putting on the gloves and reading the packaging just to double, no - triple check, and he pulls out his phone as he allows Mac to make sure the dye gets within every crevice of his luscious locks; he wouldn’t say to his face, how relaxing it felt, but he couldn’t help but sigh as soon as his hands took over.

Looking back to yesterday, their outing to the zoo, which he was over completely - the Lion Feeding would have been the best goddamned experience he’d of had in a while, but, Mac’s eyes sent shock waves that no amount of long texts could muster - well… he assumed so, anyway, he didn’t read the texts, he didn’t even skim them. Much to nobody’s surprise, except, probably Mac’s - Dennis was the fastest reader in America, after all. He re-opens the group chat and scrolls through the the barrage of emojis, laughing to himself at some new ones Charlie was cooking up and sending to Frank.

“What ‘cha laughing at, dude?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sure, Charlie couldn’t read, but he was a master at harnessing emoji-based comedy - maybe, that could be a new market to tap into, and exploit, albeit Sony did already beat them to the punch, “Charlie’s just got me cracked up on the group chat.”

“—That group chat wasn’t a bad idea after all then, huh?”

“No– no, it, it wasn’t.” It certainly wasn’t.

Being in-sync constantly was what Dennis would have considered a nightmare for them all, but he could now side-text Dee insults at the break of dawn without having to trudge all the way to her apartment to berate her to her face. _Genius!_ They were in contact, all of the time, what was so bad about that? It certainly helped his bouts of boredom within their shared silences and rituals of intimate hair-dying. Mac smiled, tenderly, at his passive reply, at least it was positive, at least he didn’t bat back any unnecessary defiance; he’d been growing softer, recently - and it only made Mac melt a little inside, after everything they still held moments like this. Private, passionate… vulnerable. He stops for a second, and admires it so far, being careful not to get any of it onto his skin, and, for the domineering man Mac was, he could be so much more careful than what Dennis gave him credit for.

Dennis scrolls back, to yesterday. The first thing he sees, that line of emojis he can’t quite decipher - it didn’t particularly bother him at first, but now it’s biting at his heels all of a sudden; an itch, that he can’t quite scratch. “…Hey, uh, Mac, what does the - blushing, staring emoji with… the princess emoji and the… tongue emoji, mean?—–Why, why did Charlie reply with fireworks?”

Oh shit. I forgot about that. “I have no idea to be honest - I was just, grasping for straws and typing out random crap.” Mac swallows back the truth and merely shrugs, “Charlie seemed to appreciate it though. Maybe he sees more in it than you and I can.”

“Maybe.”

 _But that can’t be it._ That can’t be, Mac said it was ‘from the heart,’ right? His heart can’t be that intelligible that it just let his thumbs run wild without realizing what he wrote? Why could Charlie, of all people, decipher it and yet he doesn’t even know where to begin? Pushing aside the fact that Charlie is unnaturally gifted by the means of emoji-speak, modern-day hieroglyphics, breaking the enigma code coming from Mac’s soppy state, of course… for he just has adapted with a wildly unconventional skill - an unfair case of natural selection in such a situation. Dennis would crack it by the end of their hair-dying session, that’s for sure. He had to. It had been bugging him last night and continued to do so. An annoying fucking itch, and it wouldn’t go away.

“Why don’t we go a little darker, or mix it up with a streak - silver fox style? I think it’d work in your favor, dude.” For a moment, Dennis doesn’t respond, too far in his thoughts and feeling Mac’s fingertips to really register any words coming from his mouth.

Dennis blinks. “Are you a professional, Mac? Or are you just a mortal man following instructions on the back of a packet? I can feel your hands practically _trembling—_ ”

He halts at that. So does Mac. In unison, there’s a millisecond of silence. Mac tries to stop his hands from feeling so shaky among Dennis’ hair, but the effort is fruitless. If anything it only makes him shake more.

“...I don’t think you could handle applying a streak.” He can feel Mac take that statement on as a challenge, now he’s gone and done it, his hands strengthen, the tiniest bit. Christ. “…Besides, silver fox? Really? How could that possibly rake in women, Mac - and how in hell would you know?”

“I went after women once upon a time, man, you forgot? I’ve had sex with them - it’s not like they don’t appreciate a little experience showing through.”

“No. Okay. No. Grey connotes old and withered and I am still in the prime of my youth. Experience pertains more to physical prowess and ones flirting abilities not grey ha–”

“You’re forty.”

“And?”

“Not exactly, ‘youthful’, dude.”

Dennis bites at his lip, “Pfft.” And flicks his hand, “Whatever. Do whatever you want.” He would refuse to acknowledge a midlife crisis even if it hit him smack in the face and left him in a concussion of uncharacteristic longing and sad, gross, mopey reflection. Which he wasn’t in. Which he was never, _ever_ in. Wading into that territory is like the grand re-opening a healing wound, unpleasant, painful and so, unbelievably unnecessary. His fingers lay idle on the chat for a moment or two, Frank and Charlie are still at it, spamming nonsense now, and all the wit has lost it’s flavor, devolving into the typical peaches and bananas and whatever other euphemism for fucking that’s hip enough for Frank to get his donkey-brain around. There’s no point witnessing that, so instead he scrolls further up, and stays silent, still.

Much unlike ol’ butterfingers. (Pussy-hands, much rather.)  
Despite Dennis’ incessant whining, the uncertainty of Mac’s touch was the littlest bit reassuring; he’d be slightly alarmed if he went straight into dying with no care, precaution or thought whatsoever. Mac was clumsy, yes, but not when it came down to personal things such as this, within the confines of their apartment. Same with cooking. He’d… try his best, hence why burnt food was a norm and Dennis’ hair was all patchy and screwy. Dennis, dealt, with the messes that Mac consistently made, out of… tenderness. Why? Well, that’s, _a good question…_ with no, real, justifiable answer.

“Okay.. we’ll go a bit darker then.”

Dennis stops scrolling, “Not Superman dark.”

“But you could pull it off, really,” Mac starts to try and persuade–

“No.” Dennis looks back, possibly smearing some of the dye onto his neck, “No. We know how it goes. My complexion just doesn’t suit it. Keep it brown.” He turns back around, back to stillness. Michelangelo’s David is beginning to erode. His face hits the screen for a second and he scowls at the sight of it - the relationship of you and your mirror self is a sparring never to be fully won by either party.

-

“Sure you aren’t feeling the effects of your age, dude?” Mac chuckles, but Dennis finds it far from amusing. Stone cold expression faces the texts. Dee’s awful puck joke, and the Jewish one. Ugh. Makes Dennis wretch just staring at the digital remnants. He scrolls a little further, up and up and… there it is. That massive block he didn’t read, that chunk of red that sits like a bloody mark on his phone screen, evidence of something he, Mac, didn’t want anybody to find. Well, okay, he _wanted_ Dennis to find it, hell, he thought Dennis had already read it - but, he hadn’t, he hadn’t.

And Christ was it _…painfully_ cheesy, and obviously tainted with the trivialities of feeling, that awful hindrance that pains the human condition - complicates it far more than it has to, emotional vulnerability, it enrages. But in this moment, the intimate silence, intimate touch, the fact that everything, in this small bathroom, was so damn intimate, with Mac too fixated on Dennis’ hair to register the trembling of his hand as he holds his phone, he’s far too, calmed, to be mad, he feels far too, at home. And he is. This is home. _With_ Mac. He blinks. _I always try to put a lot of work into our relationship._ And he scoffs, by God does he scoff. He does. His way of texting infuriates, the usage of u and you, the capitalization of R, the overuse of ellipses, the fact that he’s so desperately clawing for an ‘i’m okay - thank you’ as a response, and instead got a flat ‘k.’ The little things, the compliments, the hair dying, the shakes, the… erm… _peck-massaging._

It’s not as if Dennis didn’t you know, realize.

He’s not that in-denial. No. It’s just he, pushes it away. Not denial. _It isn’t that._ He swallows his pride, and scrolls to the second block. _I love you so much._ There’s a lump in Dennis’ throat and he can’t swallow it back. Sure, Mac retracts it, he loves Dennis like a friend loves another friend, not in a gay way, no, he just cares, that’s all. A lot. An amount that should be considered unhealthy and it is, and they’ve discussed it over tea, the implication of the sex doll still traumatizes, but, Mac still cares. Mac’s still willing to stand there with his hands looking as if they’d been down the Sewers with Charlie for a questionable Saturday night, backed up against the wall, uncomfortably massaging the dye through his hair for a good twenty minutes of the day. And Dennis is willing to let him. Isn’t that what friends are for? Friends of fifteen years and counting of living in the same apartment and owning the same bar and seeing each other everyday and cooking and cleaning and watching films and drinking together and dining out and, and…

“So, uhm,”

Mac’s eyes perk up, “Uh, yeah, dude?”

Dennis clicks his tongue. “You’ve lied about the smoothness of my face before?”

Mac blinks, he’s unaware as to what Dennis is referencing, for a second, but then his mouth goes agape, just a tinge and, “I.. No, I - that’s not, there’s no, wrinkles, on you, dude I - I can’t lie to you when there’s no imperfections to lie about, man.”

Dennis’ mouth opens itself, then closes, for contemplation sake. Any other time and that would’ve been refuted, he would’ve been maddened that Mac would dare lie about the fragile state of his beauty, but, he supposed, he really… wasn’t. Maybe, in Mac’s eyes, he actually was… perfect. Imperfections, that do, as a matter exist, on his face, from his mouth, in his head, and all. “…I, I guess.” Dennis’ ego rears up, but his heart also thaws itself, somewhat.

Mac leaves his hair, sensation-absent. He’s meant to leave the dye for a good while, ten minutes or so, albeit he could rinse it out now, due to the amount of time they’ve spent in here alone, as if this bathroom is a vacuum for minutes to turn to hours – there’s no way it hasn’t stained his skull at this point. He’s half surprised, as he slumps against the wall, Dennis hasn’t got anything else to say. But, he’s also half not, due to Dennis, you know, being Dennis. He’s surprised he even remembers the texts. As far as Mac is concerned, those were yesterday, those had passed, not as if he didn’t still feel every word he typed and then some. Mac takes off the gloves, and faces the mirror, to breathe, avoiding having to walk around Dennis, to witness his face, his eyes, piercing. He just stands, for a moment. The phone is then, turned off. “…What did the text mean, Mac? You know what it meant.”

Mac stares up, at his reflection. Not Dennis, slowly turning, to try and face, without getting the dye all over his skin, and staining the towels assigned round his neck. “From the heart,” Dennis continues, “You said it was from the heart.”

“And it was, I… I said everything I needed to say, you know.”

“The emojis, Mac.” Dennis knows what the two big blocks of text meant, _there’s nothing hidden there_ \- it’s all explicitly clear - and Mac’s attempts at hiding you-know-what were useless. All of the gang knew. Dennis knew. “I mean the emojis, with you and Charlie.”

Mac sighs. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

“You’re probably right.” Anything from the heart is stupid. Love doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t abide by rules, Dennis is hardly a connoisseur of such a thing, Dennis doesn’t love, or at least - he struggles to, but he knows the basics, “But I want to know, Mac.”

“Okay, okay.” Mac keels to Dennis’ whim - when does he not. “The er, the princess emoji meant gay, right? Or pillow princess or whatever.”

“Uh… Yeah.”

“Right, and the eyes-blushing emoji is exactly that, blushing and staring, that was right after we visited the meerkats and all locked eyes and you know, forgave each other. Uhm. The tongue emoji was, just me trying to be suggestive. The kiss emoji just - it looked too feminine, dude.” And too obvious.

Dennis rolls his eyes. He still couldn’t piece together what it meant. “Okay, I’m still not - completely getting at, what you meant, exactly–”

Mac gulps. “Yeah. Well, I mean, it’s, embarrassing, I honestly - I mean, I don’t even know why I considered it, it was just really stupid and I think I was hoping, too much, like, Charlie was just being supportive, I think and,”

“Mac.”

“It’s basically just me saying I thought I saw something in your eyes that, suggested…” He winces. “ _…more._ ”

Dennis isn’t exactly shocked, the whole of yesterday would’ve been much more emotionally substantial if Dennis did read the texts, luring Mac to the grotty zoo bathroom stalls like the start of a typical gay porno, and for a moment, Dennis thinks it probably could’ve of ended up like one - _okay._ Maybe, maybe - not. Not _sexual,_ but, there would’ve been tension. Already more than there was, and they’d probably of shared an anger-fueled discussion bordering on some, hidden tenderness. Maybe they would’ve shared a confession, and a kiss. _Not exactly where Dennis would’ve liked_ \- not as though he’d - _considered_ it before, or anything. Oh God. He grits his teeth. His mind won’t shut up. Fuck knows why. “And Charlie responded with fireworks.” He doesn’t give two shits about Charlie, he just wants to distract from the actuality that was impossible to push away any longer.

And Mac knows.

“Uh, yeah. I… I think it was meant to mean a _‘hooray’_ , you know? Or like, ‘finally!’ but happy, and not, sarcastic or anything.”

Dennis can see that. The gang isn’t tone deaf to homoeroticism. In fact they actively embrace it, and Charlie can read people like a sniffer-dog can sense drugs. It’s an unnatural gift, but he has it. “Ah.”

“Yeah…”

This was more awkward than it had any right to be.

“Mac, come - just, _come round here a minute._ ”

He’s expecting the worst. Whether it be another refute of straight-man-itous or just an argument of nonsense to cover up the tension ever-growing between them, to then ruin the rest of his day. It wouldn’t be confrontation - just excuses and avoidance drenched in exasperation, there was a difference. He moves to face Dennis, looking down, as he stares up.

“Have you got any of the dye on my face?”

Mac feels a small relief of pressure. “No, you’re completely clean. No marks or anything.”

“Really? Good job.” Dennis smiles, oddly enough. It’s quaint, it’s… _weird._ Something is going unsaid. Like the snapping of a pencil under a school desk when the teacher is sure you’re breezing through the lesson. There’s a fear. What if the smile is just a trap, is there rage brewing behind? What kind of question is that. Not a day passes for Dennis Reynolds without rage. Is there venom? Ready to advise about skinning the apple before you take a bite, as if that would cleanse away the sin. “…What about wrinkles? Do you see any?”

Mac draws himself closer. “No, no, you look pretty good.”

Dennis’ smile grows. Is it good, is it bad? “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I,” Mac feels, and looks, looks down, Dennis’ hand just brushes his, “I, uh,”

“Come a little closer, just, make sure,”

Mac is barely an inch away, lowering himself, to meet Dennis upon his chair, on his knees, about to pray to his God. His. “No, no… Still nothing…”

“Still ‘pretty’ good?”

Mac smiles back. He catches on. It’s not often he does, but this once, he feels it. “Just pretty, I’d say.”

“Can’t disagree with that.” Dennis’ hand meets Mac’s hair, and it’s a reversal, thoughts are already considered - Dennis has never dyed Mac’s hair, maybe, they should try it, maybe, because Mac almost melts at his touch - almost, he falls back into it, for a millisecond, and then straightens himself, keeps himself alert. Just in case it isn’t what he hopes.

Dennis’ lips are so close to Mac’s.

This, this has to be it. Mac loosens back up, allows himself to fall back into Dennis’ palm, running through his hair, creating loose strands that stand upward and look ridiculous, he won’t make the move. He’ll let Dennis do the honors, if he so chooses. And there’s a minute where Mac thinks it all faux, where Dennis will just pull away, but all of that is forgotten as soon as he gently pushes Mac’s head forward, where his lips align perfectly with Mac’s own, and they kiss as if they’d never kissed before. Which means, yes, it’s messy, sloppy, undoubtedly - imperfect, indefinitely - but it’s so imperfect that the problems, like Mac’s unsure squirming (is Dennis comfortable? Does he want this? Like, _actually,_ want this?) and Dennis’ unexpected liking toward more of a French-style - tongue-and-unwanted-asmr especially, are actually obsessively endearing, so-much-so that neither of them particularly want to stop. His hand lingers to the crook of Mac’s neck, sending chills, and exerting a few fervent moans in the process, and Mac returns the favor - forgetting the fact that the hair dye is thick and prevalent in his hair.

“Mac—” Dennis struggles to exclaim, through their embrace, “You’ll make it patchy, you,”

Mac heightens himself a bit, towering slightly above Dennis, with one knee placed upon the chair, right between Dennis’ legs, which stops him complaining for a second or two, “I know you don’t actually mind the patchiness all that much, man. Not really.”

“Go… go, fuck yourself.” They kiss deeper, if that were even possible. And Mac smiles into it, nipping at Dennis’ bottom lip. He takes a breath.

“Not when I have you to do it for me.”

Dennis pulls away. Oh shit. “What? _I thought you were a top?_ ”

So, Mac’s theories proved correct - Dennis _was_ a pillow princess. Interesting. “Yeah - I, I am. Usually, anyway. It was just, I was just trying to bring the heat a little, that’s all, I,”

“Oh.”

The magic had started to fade now, goddammit. The constant pauses had left them desperate, yes, but equally as reluctant, Mac’s hands producing squelching noises didn’t exactly help their case.

“I, think you should rinse that out before we continue, bro.”

“Yeah - I think, I think that’s a good idea.”

He awkwardly stumbles upward, still retaining as much grace as a newbie ice-skater on stilts, and makes his way toward the shower head, turning it on and, it’s as if it never happened. The casual tone skulks back in, and everything feels… normal, as if this were how it was meant to be. Dennis puts his head back and there’s no tenseness to be found, no strained bone in his body - in fact, he does the same, he melts into Mac’s hands, there’s even a little sigh, here and there, there were sighs before, but these were different, and Mac is in love, so deeply in love, but at least he knows that Dennis feels something similar. And Dennis does, upon his chair, there’s a calm, tranquil realization that this was all fine. That this was all he wanted, all this time. Be it love, or some emotion more fucked and strange and unheard of that only they shared. Sickening, really, with all the time they’d wasted, but there was still time to be had, not everything had gone to waste, and that’s all he had to consider.

The gentle sound of the droplets against the hard tile was like man imitating natures lullaby, there was nothing that could ruin this moment. What kind of sick bastard would dare wade into self-consciousness, after all his prior ego and boldness had itself built up and blockaded tear ducts shut? Why he. And if tear ducts weren’t blockaded so, they would meld with the water from the shower head. _I love you so much_ \- he can hear Mac speak it, and he mouths an _I love you_ back. It was all so out-of-hand - but it was the type of out-of-hand that he could manage. The type that he knew. The Gang. Home. Mac. And it was perfect. Imperfectly so.

-

A knock, just as he was finishing blow-drying, dammit.

Dennis begins to wade towards the door, but Mac leaps off the couch to beat him to it, meeting Charlie with some snacks, stale chips and cold grilled Charlie’s in zip-lock bags - presumably because his and Frank’s emoji-talk got nasty and Charlie wanted to get away - but hey, _Dennis wasn’t keeping check._

“Do you mind if I come in for a sec?”

“Erm.” Mac looks toward Dennis, behind the door, out of Charlie’s sight, “I guess not, dude, come on in.”

“Thanks, man,” So he waltzes in, already popping open the bag that went out of date three years ago and chewing on some exceptionally soft and green chips, literally falling to goop as soon as teeth made contact, “It’s just Frank is being a real douche right now so I just thought I’d bunk over for a few hour— Dennis, holy _shit,_ that is - the patchiest I’ve seen it.”

Mac looks to Dennis, “It’s not that noticeable! I–”

“Personally, I think it’s the best it’s ever looked.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that, but quickly and simply shrugs it off. “Okay man. If you’re cool with it.”

Mac looks to Dennis, and Dennis looks back. Yeah. They both smile, that idiotic smile of theirs. This was out-of-hand, so beautifully, _stupidly,_ out-of-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> if u wanna know what ppl had theorized those emojis to mean in more depth / or if you can't quite remember that part of the episode, i'll direct you here! this is where the basis of mac's explanation are taken from: https://sunnykeysmash.tumblr.com/post/189777233000/i-have-a-theory-first-of-all-lets-look-at-what (big props to sunnykeysmash).


End file.
